


Three rules

by harin91



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Established Relationship, Fourth of July, M/M, birthday fic, mention of Scotland and Wales, mention of current political situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 03:09:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7388152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harin91/pseuds/harin91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the 2nd of July, two days before a certain anniversary and a certain birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three rules

**Author's Note:**

> This is my birthday present for America! Happy 4th of July, everyone.  
> The work has been beta-read by AMAZING [gallyfreyanlibertea](http://gallifreyanlibertea.tumblr.com/)/[thedoctorwatcheshetalia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thedoctorwatcheshetalia) go give her all the love she deserves (which is ALL THE LOVE).
> 
> I don't have many notes or warning a part from current political situations being mentioned.  
> It's pure fluff with some spice, not completely explicit, but they have lots of sex u.u Yep.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was the 2nd of July, two days before a certain anniversary and a certain birthday.

It was hot both outside and inside. His family's mansion in Wiltshire was old, old enough to have survived almost two centuries, enough to survive some more without an air-conditioning system being installed.

Two centuries before it would also have been the first or second day of England's habitual, awaited sickness, but in the last sixty or fifty years it just meant he would be a little less focused due to a forming headache and a little less prepared to bear the heat of summer.

The sickness and heat, though, had to be put aside and ignored just like discussions over air-conditioning installing, on that particular 2nd of July.

Even the whole Brexit deal, crumbling politics and flailing economy could go to hell for the time being.

America had come to visit.

Unexpectedly like most of the times he did, carrying a small bag and a tired but still sincere smile across the doorway. They only had 24 hours together, since the American Nation had to be back before his birthday's celebrations started and England had to be home on the 4th because of lots of excuses.

And because, even though it got better with time, the sickness never really faded away.

They instantly decided some rules: no phones, no clothes, no serious talks.

The phones were the easier rule to follow. America just turned his off, while England decided it was best to send a text to his brothers before doing the same: he only wrote 'I'm busy', aware that in their secret codes it meant 'I need some time alone (with Alfred)'. If the soon-to-be-ex-Prime Minister or the Queen or whoever from the Government called and went straight to the voicemail, Wales or Scotland would be contacted soon after. And they were well known for inventing the best excuses ever in cases like these.

The clothes followed soon after, an easy enough job for America who, England remembered with a sigh, had had naturist tendencies since he was little. England knew he would be called prudish and prim most of the times, like when he insisted on wearing long-sleeved shirts, vest and trousers inside a house lacking air-conditioning during the summer, but he too accepted gladly the rule for the time being, as an exception. A demonstration of how he could sacrifice his apparent manners in favour of spending relaxing, unadulterated time with America.

The heat outside or sex weren't even the main reasons for the second rule to be approved: of course it helped fight the hotness of the summer day and it made frequent, frenzied or lazy intercourses easier when you just had to discard a thin layer of boxers.

All England cared about was laying bare and open against well known tanned skin. Resting, sweated and exhausted in a familiar embrace, safe and sound and real after months of blurred uncertainty and fear and tired defeat.

America took his share: holding England high against the main bedroom's wall to pound into him fast and hard and finally there, ready to be sated and relieved; he hid his spectacles-less face in the crook of England's neck and shoulder, sighing and breathing in his boyfriend's scent, a mix of honeyed black tea, roses, salt water, burnt ground and fresh grass; he let go of pent-up emotions, bottled and stuffed and ready to explode, in the quieter and most natural way he knew, by making love to his lover and holding his pale and scarred and so beautiful body close.

'How do you feel?' he would ask every now and then and England would just shrug or kiss him or quickly remove the hand he had placed on his forehead, to hide the proofs. He would initiate another round of sex on the kitchen's counter top, slim but toned legs around America's middle brushing their skin together, creating friction and eliciting moans.

Lose himself in the sensation of America's mouth on him, kissing everywhere, licking and biting salty skin and leaving marks on his favourite places, he knew were. He also knew where they hurt, where they pleasured, where the freckles on Arthur's skin where sparse and where they accumulated, like stars, like a Milky Way.

Arthur bent and flexed and relaxed, welcoming America's body inside and against him every time, generous in giving pleasure just as much as greedy to receive.

They moved like a tangled dance, a perfectly harmonious instrumental duet.

Sex in the summer was usually followed by long, lukewarm showers or baths in which they had more lazy and playful sex. It meant kisses on damp hair, dances under clouds of white towels and long stares and caresses on top of new and already warm sheets.

They would follow the third rule without noticing, too exhilarated by the situation, too distracted by the amount of desire and arousal: America would notice and voice how long and fair England's eyelashes looked, darkening only on the tip, and England would laugh shyly and silence him with a long kiss; they would say 'I love you' more often than 'I missed you', because admitting they had missed one another would make their bubble of serenity pop and thoughts of the outside world, their lives without one another come back full-force in yet not ready hearts; they would comment on how silly they were, how nice the day felt and talk about what to have for lunch and dinner, who had to feed the cats and water the plants, what to watch on the telly when, in their nonsensical tour around the house, they ended up on the living room's couch.

America wouldn't talk about his birthday, because he knew England and he knew he just had to wait for the day to end.

It was almost ten o'clock in the evening and they were in bed.

America laid on his back, softly and lazily tracing his fingers up and down England's spine. The older Nation was curled against America's right side, a hand on his chest, rising and lowering at each breath.

“Your present arrives directly at your Washington's house,” said England, breaking the silence.

America hummed and asked: “What did you get me?”

“I can't tell,” scoffed the older, lifting his head to rest his chin on America's arm and look at his clear blue eyes: “Shouldn't it be a surprise?” he asked.

“Yeah. I like surprises.” smiled the American, lifting his hand to playfully poke his boyfriend's small nose. England wrinkled it and made the other's laugh breathlessly.

“You should come with me...” couldn't help but say America.

England's expression changed, but his tone stayed calm: “Wouldn't that be a surprise.”

Then America's hand cupped his face and rested against his left ear and cheek and England sighed: “You know I can't.”

And before America could say one more already long forgiven 'I'm sorry', he added: “But someday, I'd love to.” with a genuine smile, open and fragile and only for his America.

“How do you feel?” asked America then, placing both hands on England's hips to lift the smaller man higher, their faces closer.

They eskimo kissed and England smiled against America's lips: “Perfect.” A true and pure confession.

“You are,” said America, before kissing him deeply with his eyes closed, the taste of a full day of summer spent together on their lips and mouths and tongues. “We are,” he smiled, one hand carding through England's soft hair and the other on his boyfriend's side, keeping him close, closer, never wanting to let him go.

They weren't perfect, They were flawed and tired and stressed Nations at the mercy of cruel, wrong and uncertain times.

But it was the 2nd of July, two days before a certain anniversary and despite it all, they were together.

They had managed to follow two of their three rules.

And in two days America would receive a present to 'Alfred F. Jones' right on time, on the morning of the 4th of July. It would be a small box accompanied with a bouquet of fresh red roses. It would carry a small envelope with a letter written in a familiar beautiful calligraphy signed by 'Forever yours, Arthur Kirkland'.

A promise that, one day, things would change for the better.

They just had to carry on.


End file.
